


Dancing

by InkuisitivSkins



Series: Tumblr Drabbles / Prompts [3]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Canon Compliant, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Flashbacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-28 16:38:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12610924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkuisitivSkins/pseuds/InkuisitivSkins
Summary: Scar never expected the Promised Day to have the outcome that it did. He also never expected to be given the opportunity to rebuild the culture and homeland of his people without further bloodshed. But will he allowhimselfto  be rebuilt, after all that he's done?In the end, help and encouragement comes from the last place he ever would have dreamed-- from the woman he somehow can't shake his attraction to.





	Dancing

**Author's Note:**

> For a "Fanfic prompts" askmeme on tumblr, #15 -- "I didn't know you could dance like that."
> 
> Sent in by a lovely anon, thank you very much! <3
> 
> It took me a little bit to think of a nice plot that made sense for this one, but I think I’ve finally gotten a good one :) Also, I know I typically do Olivier and Miles if given the choice (anon asked for Olivier and whoever), and while they’re still the very air that I breathe, I wanted to try someone else-- so I hope you enjoy a LivScar drabble :3
> 
> I apologize for there being not a ton of romance in this one, but I'm sure you understand. Both of these characters are very shut-off to the world, and I feel like it would especially take a lot of time and pining on Scar's part before he'd ever admit to loving someone in this way lol

_Olivier stood, one front in front of the other, staring forward as she delicately lifted her right arm above her head. She straightened her back, the heel of her front foot crossing over the top of the other as she lifted herself to perch on her toes. Using her left hand to balance along the small ridge installed in the wall, she focused, thin brows furrowed._

_“Make your arm an arch, love,” her instructor ordered sweetly, watching from her side, not manually making the due changes in order for Olivier to learn how to fix the issues on her own. “And point your palm downwards, to the top of your head, like you’re touching the top of a hat. But relax.”_

_Doing as she was told, she felt a curl break free from her tight bun, bouncing in front of her face, making her cross-eyed as she watched it, everything else on her body obediently unmoving._

_“Oh, those pesky curls,” the instructor huffed, stepping forward and carefully tucking the blonde hair back into the bun. The door nearby opened, sending a slight cold breeze across Olivier’s legs, which were only covered by the white tights she wore under her tutu.  
_

_The instructor smoothed out a wrinkle in the young girl’s tank top, which was white to match the rest of her ballet attire, as the photographer entered the room and began setting up his camera._

_“Your mother asked for a nice picture,” she began, smiling down at the young Armstrong. “So, you could you give a pretty smile to the camera?”  
_

_Glancing up at her without moving her head, Olivier hummed a soft affirmative, giving a rather small, calm, but still present, smile to the camera._

_The camera flashed, blinding her momentarily, before her eyes brought her back to the reality around her, fully aware that the curl had released itself from its confines once again just as the photo was taken._

 

He had a difficult time believing the photo was of the cold major general. The little girl-- she couldn’t have been older than eight-- was so small, and cute, in her little ballet outfit. And she was  _actually_  smiling. 

He wouldn’t have even entertained the thought if it hadn’t been for the blonde curl that seemed to sparkle in the flare of the camera in the photograph. The girl was obviously an Armstrong, but, then again, why would she have a photo of one of her younger sisters in her room, he thought to himself. 

Upon turning the frame in his large hands, still shaking slightly from the events that had occurred several days earlier and the toll they left on his body, he read the description written in beautiful calligraphy on the back--  _Olivier Mira at Ballet Practice, July 1888_. 

The Ishvalan man blinked, honestly rather surprised. He hadn’t thought about what the Briggs woman’s life was like prior to her military service. He hadn’t thought about her much at all, if he were to be totally honest.

And he didn’t wish to, by the way he felt strangely drawn to her. It was rare for him to feel such an attraction to another person, and he wanted to avoid it at all costs. Love only ever brought heartbreak, and he decided not to even mull over any ideas  _surrounding_  the thought in his mind. He hated the military, though there  _was_  something to be admired in the woman who risked her own military service, even her own life, to keep a man of his blood in her direct service, knowing full well what it would mean for her if he was found out. Simply because she was that strong and loyal of a commander to her equally-faithful troops. 

He’d get over it. 

A solid knock on the door echoed in the dead-silent room, causing him to look up from the photograph in his hands. He didn’t feel like wasting the little energy he had in quickly setting the photo down and running back to the bed he had been resting in, only to feign the idea that he wasn’t snooping around the Ice Queen’s childhood room. 

“You decent?” Scar heard her ask, her tone flat. 

“Yes--” he replied gruffly, not at all surprised when the woman wasted no time in opening the door, even before he had fully gotten the word to leave his lips. 

She blinked at him, eyebrows furrowed, looking puzzled, “What are you doing?”

“Excuse me,” Scar spoke, setting the photo down. “I apologize for looking around. I was merely curious.”

While he thought that she was going to snap at him for a moment, the blonde relaxed rather quickly, glancing around the room as if in search of anything amiss, “I take it you’re feeling better, then?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, eyeing her as she looked around. Seemingly meticulously, she straightened a book on her bookshelf that was crooked. 

“I apologize for forcing you to stay in my room, but, as you know, it’s the last place they would go searching for you. In a few days, you should be able to leave, once Grumman reigns in the public about,” she paused, sighing softly, earning a curious look from the Ishvalan, “Everything.”

He nodded, silent for a moment. For reasons he did not know, he spoke up-- genuinely curious about her state, since he did not notice a sling around her arm, “Your arm is healed?”

“Not fully,” she subconsciously touched her bicep with her opposite hand, her gesture betraying her confident, steady tone. “But it doesn’t need a sling. I’ve suffered worse.” 

Scar nodded again, briefly glancing back down at the photograph. 

“ _Ugh_ , that old thing,” he heard her gripe as she stepped over to the open window, peering out of it. 

“I didn’t know you could dance like that,” his voice was soft, attempting to make some conversation. He owed her some respect, as much as he initially disliked admitting. He had come to terms with his anger long ago, though he still found it difficult to trust to easily; he never would have agreed to resting up in the Armstrong manor if he hadn’t been as badly hurt as he was. 

“Like what? Ballet?”

Silence.

Then, a short, single laugh rumbled from the Amestrian, “All of us girls were taught ballet. I hated it.” She turned back out the window, her right eye visible to Scar for a fleeting moment as her curled fringe swung, adding sarcastically, “It’s probably why I’m so light on my feet now, so I suppose it wasn’t fully a waste of my time. Why are you so interested?”

_Interested_ , the thought immediately put Scar on the defense, yet he quickly realized her  _interested_  wasn’t what  _he_  assumed it had meant. Thankfully. 

“I’ve always liked watching people dance. There were many ceremonies and festivals in Ishval in which people would do so. I was never good at it once I grew older, so I preferred watching.”

To his embarrassment, Olivier turned to him again, giving him a long look up and down his large form. It was as if he could feel her bright blue eyes on every inch of him as she hummed in thought, “Yeah, you don’t look like the type to dance.”

He wanted to feel offended, yet he knew it was true. 

“However, two of my sisters have the body type of my brother, and you’ve seen how large and lumbering he is. They  _still_ dance, so looks don’t have anything to do with it. You could, if you wanted, since you’ll be a free man soon, I suppose.”

“No, I--” 

“Someone will have to reteach your displaced people once you arrive back in Ishval,” she said, gazing out the window calmly. 

 

_“Let me teach you!” Mei whooped excitedly, tugging on his hand. Scar had been content listening to the singing of his fellow Ishvalans nearby, until the Xingese girl had gotten the harebrained idea to start dancing. They had not been in Asbec for long, and this had been the first moment’s rest Scar had gotten in days, especially since the rest of their party was currently out and about. Save for the princess and her pet, of course.  
_

_Scar sighed as she tried his patience, “Not now, girl. I can’t dance.”_

_“Then now’s the perfect time to teach you!” She tugged again, the panda on her shoulder making small squeaking noises, encouraging her efforts.  
_

_“I don’t_ want _to.”_

_With a pause, Mei_ hmphed _in frustration. “But you had told me about how, during the Autumn Festival in Ishval, you would dance--”_

_“When I was a child, and I was to become a monk,” Scar frowned. “That path is far behind me.”  
_

_Understanding, Mei turned her eyes downward. She was intelligent; she had easily gathered that Scar wished for all of his past life to be forgotten. He had even forgone his name, to her surprise. She had no idea such things held such weight to them._

_In turn, Scar sensed that she was upset, so he sat straighter, “I would like to watch you. Don’t let me stop you, I’m sure your Xingese dances are wonderful.”_

_Perking up slightly, her panda mirroring her emotion, Mei nodded, “They’re beautiful! We often have large decorations and dragon costumes the dancers will wear, and they’ll dance in parades down the streets--”_

_He did not smile as she spoke, her vigor regained, but he listened contentedly, politely._

 

“I’m sure I have forgotten.”

“You  _have_  forgotten, or you’re  _trying_  to?”

Having the general see right through him caused his eyes to widen somewhat, unsure of how to respond. 

“I know you must think that you were never going to succeed, that your life was going to be about vengeance, and you were going to die killing,” Olivier turned back to him, eyes serious, seemingly burying themselves deep in his very soul. “It doesn’t have to be like that any longer. You’ve been given the opportunity to rebuild the homeland and the culture of your people, don’t let the things you’ve done stop that. It’s always been about the justice; now, with this new way presented to you, no one else has to die, and I’m assuming that’s the way your god would want that. Wouldn’t you rather have it that way as well?”

“I-I,” the Ishvalan attempted to force his gaze away from hers, but she held it, powerfully, regally. “I have forsaken the path that Ishvala would have wished for me--”

“If I was a god,” Olivier spoke. “I would have the power and the will to extend certain graces, especially with the intentions you had, albeit misguided as they were. Killing innocent people will never be forgiven, but I’m sure you know that. Allow yourself to rebuild not only your country, but your character. If you don’t seize this opportunity, you don’t deserve it.”

He found no words to retort with. 

“So you’re not a monk any longer. You can still be their leader.”

Silent, he gave her the smallest semblance of a nod. 

“So, you should definitely remember that dance,” she piped up once again, her tone much lighter than before. “I’d like to see it.”

“Why?” He asked suddenly, caught off guard, a sinking feeling in his chest returning. A longing to be near her, a foolish want to get to know one of the most dangerous people in this newly-instated government; dangerous both politically and physically. 

She flashed him a smirk, “Cultures different than mine interest me greatly. Why did you answer so quickly?”

He felt weak suddenly, carefully maneuvering himself back to the bed to sit. 

“Need anything?” She dropped the subject with surprising speed and grace. 

“Water, please.”

“I’ll go fetch one of the servants,” she said, spinning on her heels in a militant about-face, heading towards the door. “Also, Scar.”

“Yes?” He glanced up at her once again. 

“If you’ve truly forgotten, I don’t know the dances of your people, but I could teach you some of what  _I_  know.”

As a light heat spread across his face, he could swear to Ishvala that she was smirking to herself in amusement as she took her leave. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! I tried to play with the pacing a little, so I hope it all turned out well :) i really do like this ship a whole lot hehe 
> 
> Please don't hesitate to leave a like and/or kudos! I'd love to hear your thoughts!


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